XII.-IX. Kal. 18th-21st
Honour is paid, also, to the tombs. Appease the souls of your fathers and bring small gifts to the extinguished pyres. The ghosts ask but little: they value piety more than a costly gift: no greedy gods are they who in the world below do haunt the banks of Styx. A tile wreathed with votive garlands, a sprinkling of corn, a few grains of salt, bread soaked in wine, and some loose violets, these are offerings enough: set these on a potsherd and leave it in the middle of the road. Not that I forbid larger offerings, but even these suffice to appease the shades: add prayers and the appropriate words at the hearths set up for the purpose. This custom was introduced into thy lands, righteous Latinus, by Aeneas, fit patron of piety. He to his father’s spirit solemn offerings brought; from him the peoples learned the pious rites. But once upon a time, waging long wars with martial arms, they did neglect the All Souls’ Days. The negligence was not unpunished; for ’tis said that from that ominous day Rome grew hot with the funeral fires that burned without the city. They say, though I can hardly think it, that the ancestral souls did issue from the tombs and make their moan in the hours of stilly night; and hideous ghosts, a shadowy throng, they say, did howl about the city streets and the wide fields.
Afterwards the honours which had been omitted were again paid to the tombs, and so a limit was put to prodigies and funerals. But while these rites are being performed, ye ladies change not your widowed state; let the nuptial torch of pine wait till the days are pure. And O, thou damsel, who to thine eager mother shalt appear all ripe for marriage, let not the bent-back spear comb down thy maiden hair! O God of Marriage, hide thy torches, and from these sombre fires bear them away! Far other are the torches that light up the rueful grave. Screen, too, the gods by shutting up the temple doors; let no incense burn upon the altars, no fire upon the hearths. Now do the unsubstantial souls and buried dead wander about, now doth the ghost batten upon his dole. But this only lasts until there remain as many days of the month as there are feet in my verses. That day they name the Feralia, because they carry (ferunt) to the dead their dues; it is the last day for propitiating the ghosts.
Lo, an old hag, seated among girls, performs rites in honour of Tacita (“the Silent Goddess”), but herself is not silent. With three fingers she puts three lumps of incense under the threshold, where the little mouse has made for herself a secret path. Then she binds enchanted threads together with dark lead, and mumbles seven black beans in her mouth; and she roasts in the fire the head of a small fish which she has sewed up, made fast with pitch, and pierced through and through with a bronze needle. She also drops wine on it, and the wine that is left over she or her companions drink, but she gets the larger share. Then as she goes off she says, “We have bound fast hostile tongues and unfriendly mouths.” So exit the old woman drunk.
At once you will ask of me,” Who is the goddess Muta (“the Mute”)? “Hear what I learned from old men gone in years. Conquered by exceeding love of Juturna, Jupiter submitted to many things which so great a god ought not to bear. For now she would hide in the woods among the hazel-thickets, now she would leap down into her sister waters. The god called together all the nymphs who dwell in Latium, and thus in the midst of the troop he spake aloud:” Your sister is her own enemy, and shuns that union with the supreme god which is all for her good. Pray look to her interests and to mine, for what is a great pleasure to me will be a great boon to your sister. When she flees, stop her on the edge of the bank, lest she plunge into the water of the river.” He spake. Assent was given by all the nymphs of Tiber and by those who haunt. Ilia divine, thy wedding bowers. It chanced there was a Naiad nymph, Lara by name; but her old name was the first syllable repeated twice, and that was given her to mark her failing.
Many a time Almo had said to her, “My daughter, hold thy tongue,” but hold it she did not. No sooner did she reach the pools of her sister Juturna than, “Fly the banks,” said she, and reported the words of Jupiter. She even visited Juno and, after expressing her pity for married dames, “Your husband,” quoth she, “is in love with the Naiad Juturna.” Jupiter fumed and wrenched from her the tongue she had used so indiscreetly. He also called for Mercury. “Take her to deadland,” said he, “that’s the place for mutes. A nymph she is, but a nymph of the infernal marsh she’ll be.” The orders of Jupiter were obeyed. On their way they came to a grove; then it was, they say, that she won the heart of her divine conductor. He would have used force; for want of words she pleaded with a look, and all in vain she strove to speak with her dumb lips. She went with child, and bore twins, who guard the cross-roads and ever keep watch in our city: they are the Lares.
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